


Redeeming Time

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Mind fuckery, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23340127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Aziraphale realizes that his relationship with Crowley is going to take quite a different turn in the future.-Written for the kink meme prompthere.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 87





	Redeeming Time

1841- A Bookshop in Soho

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he unlocked the bookshop door, quite pleased with the fruits of the day. That little job over in Holborn had gone fairly well, and by taking the long way home, he managed to secure a rather neat lot of astrological texts from that ever-stubborn man with the shop on Bridle Lane.

 _Never sell to me indeed,_ thought Aziraphale with just a touch of smugness. _Truly amazing with forty years of life's vagaries can do to a man's point of view._

Not that he had anything to do with that, of course. He would never. It was only time and the strange ways that it could change everything, turning up into down and stubbornness into a concern for one's twilight years and where they might be spent after alienating one's progeny.

Honestly, time was one of those things Aziraphale had never been sure about back in the early days, and as an angel, he felt quite fortunate to be left out of it, thank you very much.

He locked the shop door behind him, making sure the closed sign was firmly up, and he went to put his new acquisitions on his desk. It was only when he had set the books down that he hear faint creaking from above his head, a rhythmic rasp of metal on wood that made him frown.

“What in the world-?”

When he became aware of the creaking, he also became aware of the low voices as well, too faint to make out but obviously coming from the small unused bedroom above.

Human vandals could never enter his shop, so that meant that meant either occult or celestial intruders. He scowled, picking up the poker by the fireplace and blessing it before heading up the stairs. Aziraphale was halfway up them when he realized that he recognized at least one of the voices.

“Oh fuck me, I can't, you know I can't!”

_Crowley?_

Irritation turned into a protective rage, and he was up the rest of the stairs in the blink of an eye, the poker held at the ready like a sword, and even if it had no cutting edge, it wouldn't have mattered given how hard he was going to smite whoever was making the demon, _his_ demon sound … like …

Aziraphale froze in the doorway, letting the poker drop down to his side.

“Oh fuck, fuck, so fucking good,” Crowley gasped, and Aziraphale's appalled gaze trailed down Crowley's back, bare and lead white in the darkness of the room, down the elegant line of his spine towards his rather flat arse, to where said arse was fair split over an impressively wide cock.

Aziraphale didn't breathe, unable to take his eyes away from the join where Crowley was struggling to force himself down on his partner, a sheen of sweat making him glow, the blankets rucked up around them so that there was an oddly painterly look to the whole scene.

A broad hand came up to curl around Crowley's hip, squeezing hard and making the demon gasp and drop down another fraction of an inch.

“Oh, again,” Crowley whimpered. “C'mon, play with my prick a little, you bastard, help me out, you're so fucking big...”

Crowley leaned back as his partner complied, and now Aziraphale could see a shock of pale hair, a flushed face, and a dash of black that he realized was an eye-patch.

 _A soldier?_ Aziraphale thought with outrage. _Is Crowley getting sodomized by a_ soldier _in my shop?_

Then Crowley shifted a little more, and Aziraphale realized with a topsy-turvy feeling low in his belly that it was his own face he was looking at under the eye-patch, his own face with an unaccustomed feral expression on it, and that meant it was _his_ hair, and _his_ hips thrusting up to seat Crowley more firmly on _his_ cock, and ...

The angel underneath Crowley grinned.

“Unless you're inclined to join in, I suggest you take yourself downstairs and take care of those astrology books you got from Mr. Bosworth. I'll warn you now, though, one of them is a wretched fake.”

Aziraphale stuttered with offense, and his double laughed.

“You're not ready for this yet, are you? Well, no matter, but do run along. I don't find I care for spectators today.”

Aziraphale yelped as he was unceremoniously pushed back with a wave of very familiar celestial energy.

“It's _my shop!”_ he cried.

 _And my demon,_ he didn't say.

“Mine as well,” his double responded, and then the door was promptly shut in his face and warded.

Aziraphale stood in the dim stairwell, half-convinced it had all been some kind of wish-fulfillment vision if not for the fact that Crowley's moans continued to leak out from under the door.

 _Whatever happened to my eye?_ Aziraphale wondered, because he couldn't quite stand to wonder about the rest of it.

–

2021, The Same Bookshop in Soho

Aziraphale faded back into the early twenty-first century with his coat slung over his arm, doing up his last vest button with the air of a man-shaped being well-satisfied.

“Well, that was fun,” said Crowley from the sofa. He was in slightly better shape, just a high blush on his cheeks and his eyes as bright as ill-gotten gold. He sat up with a steaming cup of tea for Aziraphale as he came to settle comfortably next to him.

“Ah, thank you. Did you enjoy that, my dear?”

“Didn't it sound like I did? I seem to remember I shouted some pictures off the wall when I came.”

“I do wonder where that tintype of dear Mary got to, but that's no matter. I am glad to give you a few pleasant memories, darling.”

Crowley nuzzled his neck a little shyly.

“I'm always glad to see you whenever you show up, you know that.”

Aziraphale put down the tea to cup the back of Crowley's neck, drawing him even closer. He smelled exactly the same as he had in 1841, as he had in 1622, in 342 AD. It was all Crowley, and his heart was so filled with love that he thought it might burst.

He mourned the time they had lost, the times he wanted to be there for Crowley and wasn't, but it wasn't as if they were mortal things. They literally had all the time in the world, going backwards and forwards, and he intended to take advantage of it.

“Hey,” said Crowley after a moment, sitting back and tugging on the bottom of the eye-patch. “What's up with this? Just felt like playing a bit of pirate with your poor Victorian demon?”

“Oh that was all for me,” Aziraphale said. “I was so unbearably smug back in the 1800s. Thought it might give me something to wonder about.”

“Keep it,” Crowley said with a laugh. “I could have used the laugh when I was doing the pirate king thing in Barbados during the 1790s. And yes, before you ask, that is absolutely a request.”

“Well, if you say so, my own,” said Aziraphale, pleased.


End file.
